Label:
Sways
Release Date:
24/06/2013

The delight is tangible. Ghost Outfit sing and they play and they must move and live as if they are experiencing every emotion, every moment of truth or fact of life for the very first time. There is no sadness, no misery, no anger, guilt or regret. If there is sadness, misery, anger, guilt or regret, it is relished. Pain and sorrow are welcome reminders that you are still alive. Every second is one to be savored and swallowed. And death is not to be feared, it is to be anticipated. It is to be reveled in. every glorious moment of life can only be superseded by the orgasm that is death.

'Switch' positively quivers with this elation, racing frantically towards its own demise, anxious it won't come soon enough, petrified of being trapped in immortality. It begs to be taken, pleads to be relieved from the life where every second was, just a moment ago ('Too Soon'), joyous and sublime, and collapses in a fit of ecstasy on acceptance.

There's even exhilaration to be found in insomnia ('Sleep'). A hallucinogenic clarity that comes when one feels like they "haven't slept for years". Hedonistic wails and selfishness are lost and replaced by whispers of idyllic objectivity and appreciation, rocking gently upon undulating chords - the state of nirvana that Ghost Outfit were probably seeking all along.

'Lexicon' wordlessly churns, squeals and sighs in an ensemble act of stratospheric levitation. 'Lexicon' segues with a start into the puberty-stricken 'I Want Someone Else' which determinedly sulks in solitude, eschewing any and all ideas of transcendence, nirvana, moksha, salvation etc that its peers had painstakingly established, blaming blind faith for its present, pathetic state ("I spent half my life praying to you"). "I don't wanna hurt" it mopes, in a voice barely above a whisper, staring with heavy, blackened eyelids at a 1994 NIN poster. "I won't be happy", it asserts with a whine, shifting its gaze to an unravelled Pablo Honey cassette. It sits alone, satisfied in its isolation, content in its outcast-status, and more than happy to give way to the rowdy, breathless and socially savvy 'Killuhs' and its friend with the stringy hair, the fuzz pedal and the over-eager foot (who always smells of hemp and sweat) 'What You've Got'.

'Kids', the closer, is the return of exuberance. Buoyant, careless, and lighter than air, it bounds around, arms outstretched, making airplane noises. It moans and yells at no one and everyone, grateful to be alive and in our presence. It grabs our necks, kisses our hair, spatters spit in our faces and whirls itself into an exhausted but tender finish. The album is called I Want You To Destroy Me and all it wants to do is live.